William Bernhardt - Dark Eye

I entered O’Bannon’s office and slammed the door behind me. He was sitting at his desk, pretending to rifle through some papers, but really just marking time till I arrived.

And to my surprise, Darcy was there, too, sitting in a chair just behind him.

“Hey, Darce,” I said, wiggling my fingers. “How’s my main man?”

He blinked. “Did you know that coffee is the second largest trade commodity in the world market? Americans consume more coffee than the inhabitants of any other nation on earth.”

“It’s my fault. I skew the average.” I turned my attention to the boss. “What’s up, Chief?”

“How are you getting along with the Feeb?”

“Swimmingly.”

“No complaints? On either side?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” I looked at him. “You seem somewhat incredulous.”

“I’m glad to hear you’ve finally learned to play well with other children.”

“So what’s Darcy doing here?”

O’Bannon squirmed slightly. Not physically; he was too savvy for that. But I saw it, just the same. “He… asked to come. He wanted to see you.”

I smiled. “No new developments today, Darce. No more crime scenes.”

“Nonetheless, he… wanted to be involved.”

“Okay by me. But Granger apparently has a problem-”

“I’ll speak to Granger. He’s pissed at me already because of the press conference.”

“We’re doing a press conference? I thought you hated-”

“We don’t have any choice. Do you realize how much attention this case has been getting?”

“I’ve seen the local papers.”

“It’s not just local. It’s everywhere. Only thing worse than a serial killer is a serial killer during a slow news week. I guess it’s to be expected-this case gets weirder and weirder every day. The press has a million questions about the Poe connection. And now we’ve got a beloved television celebrity involved. We’re the lead story on CNN Headline News, for God’s sake.”

“So if the press is all over it already, why hold a conference?”

“We’ve got to do something. Tourism is down dramatically. People are canceling their vacations. I guess no one wants to gamble badly enough to risk being buried alive. Or bled to death.”

“But unless they’re young women-”

“Which is one thing we need to explain. But the main chore will be to convince everyone that we’re working hard and we have substantial leads.”

“We do?”

He ignored me. “I’ve got the Chamber of Commerce breathing down my neck, Susan. The mayor. The hotel commission. We need to put on a dog-and-pony show.”

“Okay. So Granger is traumatized because he has to go before the press?”

O’Bannon’s eyes drifted down to his desk. “Granger isn’t doing it. You are.”

“Me? But he’s-”

“You know as well as I do that once those reporters get going with Granger he’ll come off looking like a doofus. He’s a good cop, but quick wit isn’t his specialty. Besides, what does he have to tell them? The only person who’s come up with anything useful is you.”

“And Darcy. But what if the press hassles me about my recent demotion to consultant status?”

“Tell them it’s none of their damn business. Stick to the case.”

“But-”

“Don’t bother arguing. You’re doing it. Unless you’d like me to terminate that consulting agreement.”

I fell silent.

“Good. The press will assemble at five. So go change your clothes and do something with your hair and get ready. If you want to bring your FBI guy, that’s fine, but I want you to do the talking. We have to impress upon them the fact that the LVPD is in charge and has the investigation under control.”

“Great. Just great.” I checked my watch. “I’d better-”

He held up a finger. “One more thing.” He turned. “Darcy, can you get me some more coffee?” O’Bannon held out his mug. “I’d really appreciate it.”

Darcy tilted his head. “D-D-Did you know that Americans drink over forty million cups of coffee a year?”

“Fascinating. So refill my mug, will ya?”

Darcy left the office. And O’Bannon gave me the harshest look I’d had since I got out of detox. “Don’t hurt him.”

I was totally flummoxed. “What?”

“You heard me. I don’t want my boy hurt.”

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting him. He’s adorable. And I think he loves working on this case.”

“What he loves is-” He stopped, shook his head.

“I’d think you’d be pleased. You know, in his own weird little way, he has a real aptitude for detective work.”

“There is no way in hell Darcy could cut it as a detective. He can’t even carry on a coherent conversation.”

“He might need help in certain areas, but who doesn’t? Lots of people can’t carry on conversations. I don’t know anyone who can do what Darcy does.”

“How could he interview a suspect? How could he organize his thoughts and come up with a theory? Write a report? It’s ridiculous.”

“I think you’re being too hard on him.”

“I didn’t just stroll into his life last week. I think I know a little something about what he can and cannot do.” He muttered something under his breath. “Look, you can take him around to the crime scenes. Let him talk to the techies. Fine. But I don’t want him hurt. Are we clear?”

I stood quietly at attention. “Yes, sir.”

The door opened again and Darcy entered. “Here’s your coffee, Dad.”

O’Bannon took a deep drag, then winced. “What the hell is this? This isn’t-”

“I got you decaf. Because caffeine is not good for you.”

“Decaf?”

“In controlled studies conducted at Stanford University, caffeine and caffeine withdrawal were linked to headaches, nosebleeds, stomach disorders, irritability, impotence…”

O’Bannon pressed a hand against his forehead. “One more thing to remember about this press conference, Susan. Your psycho killer may be watching.”

“Almost a certainty,” I said. “So I’ll be careful not to make him feel challenged, offended, maligned. No telling what he might do if that happened.”

He was disturbed.

He had done everything according to plan. He had sacrificed the offerings. He had followed the directions in the prophet’s work. But the Golden Age had not come. Ginny had not been returned to him.

Was it possible he was wrong?

It must simply be delayed. A transformation of this magnitude cannot come about overnight. This would give him more time to get the word out. The media coverage had exceeded his most fevered imaginings. It seemed he was everywhere, or his work was-on newspapers and magazines, on the television, on street corners and newsstands and even the giant electronic billboard on the MGM Grand. A condign response to actions of this boldness, of this import. His great commission had been to spread the good news, to tell those who would hear of the coming of Dream-Land. He’d become a sensation.

Such success could only presage greatness. Such acceptance could only validate the rightness of his path. With this degree of exposure, he could be assured that any receptive ears would hear the message. Not everyone would understand it, of course. Some would write it off as just another news story. Another pathetic wretch trying to get his fifteen minutes. But the enlightened would see more. The prophet had known his message would not be heard by everyone: To the few who love me and whom I love-To those who feel rather than to those who think-To the dreamers and those who put their faith in dreams as the only realities-I offer this Book of Truths…

On the television, a popular talk show host was interviewing an English professor about how Poe’s dark and nihilistic visions might inspire an unbalanced personality. The professor appeared delighted to be consulted. Not surprising, in this age in which colleges push professors to become media consultants as much as they push them to publish. An expert in American literature probably receives few calls from the six o’clock news.